His Muse
by TheUltimateGambit91
Summary: Remy LeBeau is a famous artist but as of late, he's been suffering a creative-block. But when his manager sends over a young aspiring model to draw, he must draw the line between business and pleasure and not fall for his new muse. ROMY SHORT STORY
1. A Typical Artist's Woes

_**Author's note: Though I will mostly likely put this in my **__**"Gammy's collection of short stories" **__**I've also decided to publish it as a single story because I'm so pleased with how it turned out! Please REVIEW!  
**_

_**-Gams **_

_**Disclaimer: Don't own X-Men, property of Marvel. **_

_**Plot Summary: Remy LeBeau is a famous artist living in the midst of Paris. As of late, his talents and skills as an artist have proven useless in his attempts to produce work for an upcoming gallery show. However, when his manager/publisher sends over a young aspiring model for him to draw, he finds more than just his artistic senses tingling. He has to find a way to draw the line between business and pleasure so that he can get the job done and not end up making a fool of himself in his attempts to not fall for his new muse. ROMY**_

_**Rated: M **_

_****_

_**His Muse**_

_**-xXx-**_

_**Chapter One – A Typical Artist's Woes**_

_**-xXx- **_

The pencil scratched the page at a brisk pace. Each line grew darker, thicker with each stroke as his unusual gaze fixed itself between the page and the picture before him. His red-on-black eyes darted between the two rectangular forms like clock hands, one a means to the other. Like a typical artist, his brow furrowed in concentration as he took in the female form before him and attempted to transcend it to the page. Every curve, dip and line that the body described, he acknowledged with the stroke of the pencil. However the frown that marred his handsome face grew contorted by frustration as his pencil strokes became shapeless in his mind and thus shapeless across the page. He drew his hand away like a blacksmith drew away from an uneven piece of iron; both too hot to touch and too ruined to continue. The pencil hit the desk with an irritable clank as he slumped back into his chair. The half finished sketch of a woman lay discarded across the desk beside its photograph-sister while the young man glared his aggravation. It wasn't too long before Remy let out a deep held sigh and ran a hand over his tired face. His head dipped backwards over the edge of the chair head. He stretched his arms back as his aggravation bottled once more.

This _block in artistic creativity_ was becoming more of a nuisance than usual these days. Every time his left hand touched the paper with a pen, a pencil or a brush, his talents and skills would crumble to dust on the page. It had been just over three weeks since his luck turned. After nearly a decade of rising to the top of 'the best' list, his efforts and accomplishments had been reduced to a full bin of paper and broken graphite pencils. It wasn't unlike him to have a block in his creativity tank now and again but it never took him this long to find his footing again. It never vexed him like this. Of course, no artist could keep pumping the same quality results with every turn of page. No more than a printing machine could continue to process products without re-stocking its ink jets. But how he was supposed to re-stock his artistic tank, he hadn't the slightest clue. Drawing on the graphics tablet on his computer had been useless. His painting skills were, as of late, a laughing mockery. Drawing with ink pens had left him better off scrunching fresh sheets of paper rather than trying at all. Now even pencil sketching was an unproductive feat. A deep sigh blew through his mouth as he pushed himself to his feet. He turned a cold shoulder to his untidy work desk as he retreated from the room.

His apartment- or loft-turned-make-shift-apartment, was spacious enough to hold the mass of art supplies and finished (and un-finished) works he had accumulated over the years. Grand-sized canvases stood piled against the cream walls while miss-matched tables cluttered the floor space, each holding jars of paint brushes, art books, old sketches and various other knick-knacks that fell under the Artistic belt. Everything was either mismatched or easily replaced and in a way, he liked it that way. The only permanent feature of the apartment, except for the Bathroom, was the massive kitchen installed to feed his creative culinary needs. Across the loft room, the summer skies and classical buildings of Paris stared from behind the glass doors as he made his way towards the kitchen. Like routine, he fixed himself a cup of steaming hot coffee and fished out a fresh pack of cigarettes before heading towards the French windows overlooking the city. A small balcony overlooked the Parisian streets, allowing him the perfect place to think (and smoke). As always, he found a pair of dark shades lying on the small sofa and slipped them on before sitting down. The small Victorian-style sofa was only just large enough to fit comfortably on the balcony. Given Remy's tall frame, he was always forced to put his feet up on the balcony railing. Not that he minded. A content sigh escaped him as he nestled into his favourite spot. His arms cross across his lean, muscular chest while he swept his gaze over the afternoon view.

It was this point in the day, between dusk and mid-day, that he realised how long he had been locked away in his drawing room.

Time seemed limitless whenever he stepped into that little section of his world, but today his limitless time had proven to be unproductively spent. With that thought, he brought a fresh cancer stick to his lips and lit it with a match. Call him old fashioned, but he preferred matches over lighters. The little scrape-and-hiss of the match head was oddly gratifying. He took a deep drag and released. The smoke wisped through the warm air before disappearing to nothing as he let another sigh free. The tranquillity was short lived however as a distinctive beeping erupted from his jeans pocket. A disgruntled groan escaped him as he fished out the offending cell phone from his pocket. It was followed by an inward grimace when he read the name across the tiny screen.

_**JP Beaubier**_

Remy heaved a last, deep breath before answering the call. He was a living, smoking dead man.

"JP,_ quel plaisir est de vous entendre_. What does Remy owe de pleasure for?" (What a pleasure it is to hear from you)

" _Oh don't feed me dat merde y' call pleasantries Remy LeBeau! I know y' not happy t' hear from moi!"_

Remy grunted painfully at Jean-Paul's _loud_ response. He was still recovering from only having less than three hours sleep and was already O.D. (over dosed) on coffee. To say the least, the mixture was lethal for his head. He gave a sarcastic chuckle as he shifted in his seat, rubbing his temples with a free hand.

"Don't be like dat J.P. Y' know, dat I know dat whenever y' call moi on de cell phone dat y' have bad news. Now out wit' it._ Quelle est la mauvaise nouvelle?" _(What's the bad news?)

There was some grumbling from over the line.

"_Y' know dat Cajun t'ing y' do, talking in both languages. It's really quite frustrating for moi! Either speak in Anglais or speak in Francais Remy-!"_

Remy merely rolled his eyes at Jean-Paul's irritable ramblings.

"_Merde _JP, jus' get t' de point! Did y' boyfriend stand y' up or somet'ing? Y' sound like a PMSing _femme_."

Even as he growled it, Remy couldn't help but smile. He knew how JP would react to that kind of name-calling.

"_Oh piss off Remy!"_

Remy couldn't help but let out an entertained bark of laughter.

"Knew it _mon ami_!"

Jean-Paul began muttering angrily again on the other side. Once his anger waned (and Remy stopped chuckling) he replied.

"_Just know that while you're off having your way with every skirt in Paris, _I _am in a steady, healthy relationship."_

A husky chuckle rumbled through Remy's chest as he put out his cigarette and rolled his eyes.

"_Oui, oui mon ami. _So y' tell _moi_ every day. Now what's dis all about _hien__?"_

"_Oh so you _want _to listen to what I have to say now? That's a first this year-"_

"Beaubier…"

Jean-Paul took the note of warning in Remy's voice as a motive to move to the intented subject at hand.

"_How's de latest Art Nouveau collection coming?"_

Remy blew a sigh between his closed lips.

"No where as of yet_ mon ami_."

It was like pulling the pin on a grenade.

"_Y' have had over three months t' get dose started, finalized and finished LeBeau! Dat Alphonse Mucha impressionist show starts in less than two months! I can't open a gallery without the main artist's works in it!" __**(1)**_

Remy continued to massage his temple as he uttered a defeated sigh. He tried to ease his own frustrations as he picked up his untouched coffee and took a sip. He made a face as the bitter, _cold_ liquid slid down his throat. He shivered in disgust as he replied.

"Remy knows dat._ Et_ he _has _been tryin' t' get somet'ing done _mais _it be useless at de moment! He can't put _merde_ on paper!"

"_You're goin' t' have to if y' don't start coming up wit' somet'ing soon!"_

Remy rolled his eyes.

"Dat's _real_ helpful JP."

"_No but this is. Since your artistic talents aren't working I've arranged for a model to come over next week. Hopefully your artistic block will ease with some encouragement."_

Remy paused for a moment. A moment or two later, he pulled his feet off the railing and stood. He leant a hand against the doorframe as he replied.

"JP, dat's not going t' help moi. Jus' get Piotr t' do de Mucha show. He's going pretty well at de moment last Remy heard-"

"_You need to check your emails more mon ami. Piotr is on his honeymoon wit' his _new wife_, _Kitty._ Besides, he's a landscape artist. _You _are de human-subject artist. You could make a man in drag et heels look like Princess Diana if you wanted to. So don't you try backing out o' dis."_

Remy rolled his eyes with an irritable huff. He barely took notice of the slightly put-out note in JP's voice at the mentioning of Kitty and Piotr's marriage.

"_No-one_could make a man in drag look like Princess Diana, JP. "

Jean-Paul gave a disbelieving snort.

"_Not'ing is impossible mon ami. Now here are de ground rules about de femme-"_

"Femme?"

"_Oui. De femme you are goin' t' draw for de next three weeks. Now her name be Marie D'ancanto. She's de latest craze in de art and modelling business. Tres belle femme, even by my standards."_

Remy gave a low chuckle before he teased.

"JP are y' admitting t' having a petite crush on a_ femme_? Hmm…Remy wonders how Edward would take dat."

An irritable huff erupted from the phone.

"_He happens t' love her too Remy. She be an old ami of his from America, which brings moi t' rule number one. No gettin' into her pants. Dis is strictly business. D'accord?" (Okay?) _

Remy let out an overly dramatic sigh of disappointment. He even added a mock-pout across his face though JP obviously couldn't see it.

"Oh alright den _mon ami. If y' insist. Mais_ while we're on de subject o' pants. What kind of model is she?"

"A nude model mostly, but she moonlights as a Vogue model now and again. Y' should pick up a dis month's copy. Dere be some tres belle photos of her in de Summer collection."

Remy cleared his throat dramatically.

"_Je suis desole_ JP, _mais_ Remy don't t'ink he has de time. What between facial appointments et buying Cosmo-" (I am sorry)

An angry growl erupted from the phone causing Remy to grin with new triumph. JP didn't linger on his irritating teasing habits as he replied curtly.

"_Just keep your so-called-artistic hands on de paper while she's dere. She's coming all de way from New York t' do dis as a favour t' moi et Edward. So you better behave around her. Fix up dat dump y' call an apartment b'fore Monday too. She'll be at your door bright et early at nine a.m. D'accord?"_

There wasn't a doubt in Remy's mind that JP took great satisfaction in knowing he'd have to wake before his _usual_ waking hour. Thus was the personal gain of the publisher/manager. JP gave a small chuckle when Remy forlornly agreed and thanked him for the unwanted help.

"_Jus' keep y' eyes on her et y' hands on de paper mon ami. Y'll do jus' fine."_

Remy could only hope so.

_****_

_**Now how was that for a first chapter?**_

_**REVIEW!**_

_**-Gams **_

_**Alphonse Mucha – One of the many influential Art Nouveau artists of the movement during the mid 1890s. Check out his work, it's absolutely beautiful stuff. And just imagine Remy drawing them! –sigh- lol I'm so sad I know…**_


	2. Meeting the Muse

_**Hey everyone! Thanks so much for the awesome reviews!**_

_**-Gams **_

_****_

_**Chapter Two – Meeting the Muse **_

He was in _hell_. Absolute, burning, blazing _hell_. And it was all Jean-Paul's fault.

As JP had so _kindly put it_, he spent the majority of his weekend cleaning up _'the dump he called an apartment.'_ He spent hours cleaning the floors, throwing out old brushes and boxing some of his smaller canvas works. The only things reminiscent of his lack of tidiness were the canvases that he couldn't hide in the closet. Most were too big and too tall to be moved let alone stuffed into a narrow space. He didn't include the irremovable paint and ink stains that marred the table tops. They were easily hidden behind the white table cloths he bought just for the occasion. He didn't like having to rearrange his messy system just for _the hired help_ but the gentleman in him would have none of it. His Tante had raised him a Gentleman and he wouldn't let anyone prove him otherwise. However that annoyance wasn't anything compared to what happened after the clean up. It was the shopping escapade that led him to his current predicament of hell. With JP's_ encouragements_ nagging at the back of his mind, he decided that he needed to do more than just clean up his apartment. He re-filled his fridge (instant salads for the model; normal food for him), he got some new table cloths to hide away the canvases and he bought some flowers that he could work into the designs. Art Nouveau was, after all, famous for its use of _Flora and Fawna.___**(1)** Upon entering the florist shop however, he realised that he needed to actually _see_ what _Marie D'ancanto_ looked like before choosing any. Though he was no expert at flowers, if he painted the wrong coloured flower with the wrong skin and hair tones, it was likely to clash. Thankfully, he remembered JP mentioning that Marie D'ancanto was in the latest issue of Vogue. And so at the expense of his male pride, he picked up a copy on his way home.

That had been his first mistake.

His second mistake was to find the page spread and look at her for the first time.

She wasn't what he had expected at all. Whenever he used a live model, he usually picked blondes or red heads with slim, supple figures and Angelina-Jolie-smiles. Marie D'ancanto wasn't an Angelina Jolie. She was _better. _Soft, auburn curls tumbled over her shoulders like waves and framed her heart-shaped face. In the summer heat that the main photo described, her hair caught the light and turned it to gold. She stood in a paddock, leaning casually against an old wooden gate with the afternoon sun in her hair. Dark denim skinny jeans hugged every curve while the light, off-white camisole fitted perfectly to her delicate, creamy form. A mesh yellow scarf wrapped loosely around her slender neck as she looked into the camera with secrets in her eyes. Her full lips spoke wordless tease. Like she knew something that he did not. However it was the eyes that sparked his main interests. They were emerald-nots. Too glossy to be real emeralds but too bright and perfect to be called eyes. Long lashes framed each emerald while her make-up was almost invisible. She didn't need it, was all he could think when he inspected the small amount that polished her features.

_Merde. He was so screwed._ Jean-Paul had ordered him to keep his hands on the paper and his eyes on her and he had (so stupidly) promised that he would do as asked. Now…he wasn't so sure he _could_. That's when he made his third mistake; he began to look for more photos. He looked her up on the Vogue website and plowed through the thousands of photos in which her face was central. She was a woman of many personas as she never did the same look twice. One particular picture caught his attention amidst the hours he spent searching for her face. It was a black and white piece, gothic almost with a 1940s feel to it with the way her hair was pinned back in a low bun of waves. She looked over her shoulder with a smouldering look. The dark make-up that encircled her eyes intensified the glare she sent him from the computer screen. But it wasn't just the smouldering glare that caught his attention. A pair of white streaks of hair framed her face. One of the glossy streaks tucked loosely behind her visible ear. Instead of it looking unnatural or something out of Frankenstein's bride, it looked stunning. It looked natural on her though he was sure it must have been dyed for that particular photo shoot. It was after this particular photo that Remy's creativity block was officially unplugged. His fingers practically itched to find a pencil, a pen, anything he could use to start drawing. He printed off what must have been hundreds of photos of her but the numbers looked depleted as soon as he began sketching from them. Countless sheets of paper littered the drawing room floor with her face displayed across every surface. It was like he couldn't stop even if he wanted to. He became restless but determined to capture her essence with the stroke of a pencil tip. Sleep seemed like a lost cause, a forgotten memory as he continued to draw into the night. But no matter how limitless time seemed to be in that room, eventually, Remy fell into a restless sleep. Not that he noticed really. Even in his dreams, all he saw was her face scrawled across the canvas of his mind.

His dreams were put to a halt however when the distinctive sound of the doorbell ringing erupted through the open door. Remy woke with a start. His head shot up from its place against the desk, revealing a blurry eyed expression behind a curtain of unruly auburn hair. It wasn't until the door bell rang again that he realizes what had woke him up. Or who, more like. A second later he was in a panicked frenzy to clear the room. Sketches and photos of Marie D'ancanto were spread across every table top as he ran about the room in a mad rush in an attempt to hide them all away. He did _not _need to look like a stalker to the woman who had done nothing but plague his thoughts for the past forty-eight hours. When the doorbell rang a third time, a frustrated growl escaped him as he forced the last of the sketches into the confines of his desk draw. On the fourth ring, Remy was speeding across the loft. He didn't even attempt to see what he looked like in the hallway mirror . Instead, he cleared his throat, smoothed back his unruly fringe, and took a deep breath. Only then did he reach for the door handle. The door swung open at a painfully slow rate even if it did take two seconds. Remy forgot the matter completely as soon as his eyes settled on the figure before him.

It was her. It was _really_ her. And she was smiling at him with that oh-so-glorious smile.

"Hi. Ya mus' beh Remy LeBeau?"

_Oh Dieu._ She was _Southern_ too. Remy wanted to groan aloud as the hellish predicament worsened before him. Instead, he gave his best winning smirk and held out a hand for her to take. She took his hand freely, complete with another Goddess's smile. Her hand was soft, just as he had imagined they would be but he dared not kiss her hand like he usually would. The charming ladies man in him choked and gagged as he gently shook her hand and addressed her with her full name. It rolled off his tongue nicely, like honey.

"Et y' mus' be Marie D'ancanto. _Oui_?"

As she nodded, he began to inspect her at a closer pace. He compared the woman before him to the woman in all the pictures. The artist and womanizer in him looked for blemishes that the magazine artists had wrongfully brushed away. He was delighted to find a light trail of freckles that danced across her nose and cheeks. They blushed a light pink as she smiled softly. It was while he was silently gawking over her that he suddenly realised that they had been standing in the doorway nearly three minutes without him saying anything. He nearly flushed as he uttered a brisk chuckle and replied.

"Desole _ma chére_. I- I overslept dis morning. Not quite awake yet. Would y' like t' come in?"

She nodded with an amused smile across her face. He proceeded to lead her into the hallway as the gentleman inside him practically berated him for not being quick and smooth with the old kiss-the-hand antic. He didn't linger on it. His eyes watched her from behind as she walked through to the main loft area. She was clad in a pair of dark skinny jeans while a dark denim jacket covered her upper half. A white tank top peeked just below the hem of the jacket. Her loose auburn hair flowed past her shoulders as she turned to face him. He wondered silently if he removed the white beret on her head that he might find a pair of twin streaks to frame her face. She smiled without so much as an ounce of nerves as she spoke. The man that he was, he had half expected her to be anxious about what they were going to do for the next three weeks. He had to keep reminding himself that she had done this before.

"So, um. What did ya have in mahnd about the next couple of weeks? Ah'm completely at your disposal."

It was like handing a child a ticket for a life-time supply of chocolate, given the adjustment in context of course. No sooner had she said it however, the ticket was ripped from his fingers and reality hit him over the head.

"Within reason of course."

She smiled almost teasingly, but Remy dared not indulge it with a teasing remark. He could have been wrong. He found himself clearing his throat again, most uncharacteristically, as he followed her into the living room area. She sat down at his request before he replied.

"Well uh- JP explained de project t' y', _ oui?"_

She nodded her response.

"Yeah he did. He also said ya've been havin' a bit of a _creative break down_?"

He couldn't help but let a chuckle out at her words. No doubt it was something JP had influenced. He felt himself relax a little more (much to his surprise) as he replied genuinely.

"_Oui._ Somet'ing like dat. _Mais _I t'ink I can manage it. What wit' a _belle femme_ such as y' self t' draw every day f' de next _trois semaines_." (three weeks)

He had the great satisfaction of watching as a rosy pink coloured her cheeks. She smiled almost shyly, a look he hadn't seen in any of her photographs. He was almost disappointed when that healthy blush faded from her porcelain cheeks. Remy silently promised to make a habit of making her blush. What harm could there be in that?

"_A lot of harm. It can do a lot of harm…"_

The only way to make a woman blush was to either compliment her or flirt. Remy happened to exceed in both as they usually did wonders for his ego (and his sex life). He brushed the thought off as he realised that she had spoken again.

"Desole_ ma chére_. What did y' say?"

That ever present smile seemed to beam from her face as she replied.

"Ah asked if ya wanted t' get started."

He felt his cheeks burn slightly as he nodded anxiously. He wanted to kick himself at what a fool he was making of himself. Him? Blushing? He had never so much as considered it a part of his emotional capabilities. Nevertheless, he kept a poker face smile across his lips and tried his best to remain smooth and cool. He may have lost his composure but he was still the same old sexy, charming, raggin' Cajun. After smoothly relaying his plans for the Nouveau collection however, Marie suggested that they have a practice run so he could '_get used to her anatomy_.' He nearly choked on clean air at her choice of words. Nevertheless, he agreed coolly and directed her towards the bathroom so she could get changed. In the mean time he busied himself with getting himself cleaned up. After taking a very short (and very cold) shower, he changed into some fresh clothes and ventured back to the loft to set up a practice set to draw. Having done this job countless times before, Remy had come to two conclusions. Non-living features such as sofa beds, pillows and sheets were good for who things; sex and drawing nude models. However in this case, it was damned near excruciating for Remy to remain_ professionally minded_ as he pulled out a small day-bed sofa from out of its corner. He drew the balcony curtains closed and turned on the lights. The cream coloured curtains provided a basic backdrop behind the sofa. He completed the set with a few black pillows and was in the midst of puffing them up when someone cleared their throat from behind him. He turned abruptly, almost startled by the sound, but quickly regretted it the moment his eyes landed on Marie.

Marie stood, not naked, but clad only in a silky looking black bed robe that ended around her mid-thigh. Her hair was swept back into a quick messy bun as she smiled effortlessly. It ceased to amaze him how naturally casual she made this all seem. They were perfect strangers and yet she was more than prepared to undo that teasing robe and expose all her- he ripped his thoughts out of that stream as soon as it passed his mind. He mentally shook himself as she spoke up.

"Nahce set up ya have there."

He frowned in confusion for a moment before catching her direction of meaning. He shrugged it off in what he hoped was a casual manner as he replied.

"_Oui_- I- I figured we could start wit' somet'ing simple. _Mais_ if y' not comfortable wit' dis den I can change it around-"

He stopped talking abruptly when he felt her rest her hand against his exposed arm. His gaze travelled from her delicate fingers, up her slender arm and fixed on her smiling face in one slow sweep. She smirked up at him. Those teasing eyes shone as she spoke gently.

" Ya'll don't need t' beh so concerned about mah comfort Mistah LeBeau. Ah can _manage _sitting on a sofa."

The way she said his name sent horribly pleasant tremours down his spine. In the same way, the touch of her gentle fingers against his arm sent all kinds of chills over his flesh. He cleared his throat, fighting back a groan, before he replied.

"D'accord. Well, den…I guess we should get started?"

She gave an approving nod before stepping onto the carpet he had laid out under the sofa bed. Remy couldn't help but watch as she did so. Not to be perverted or inappropriate but to see how she could do this so casually. Being a fashion model was one thing, modelling nude was a completely different thing. He was amazed to find that even with her back turned, she held no hesitance in her stature as she began to untie her robe. Remy withdrew his gaze as he mentally kicked himself.

"_Y' have t' stop t'inking like dis. Y' promised JP dat y' wouldn't get involved. Dat y' would keep y' hands t' de paper et mon yeux (eyes) on her. Dere be no t'inking about her career choices or why she does dis. Jus' stop t'inking about it…"_

Remy had to force himself to remember that she was no ameteur. This was part of her job. She had probably modeled for countless other artists. This was just another day in the office for her. A respectable, non-sexually orientated office job…that just happened to be in his living room. Remy shook his head as if to shake the thoughts out like dust from a shovel. He busied himself with fiddling with the small desk he had set up in the living room. A couple of fresh sheets of cartridge lay before him while a couple of half-worn graphite pencils and a putty eraser lay near by. He was going to be professional about this. He wouldn't go back on his promise, he would-

"So where do ya want meh?"

He was pulled abruptly from his mess of thoughts only to turn abruptly for the second time. This time however…he held no regrets for his actions. The only regret he held was that he had made a promise to his friend and he was already very close to breaking it. Marie stood with a small smile spread across her full lips. The black bed robe lay wrapped over the head of a chair while she stood naked before him, with all her unclothed charms exposed. She didn't even wrap her arms around herself to hide her full breasts. She held herself like she would while clothed; unabashed and smiling. Remy couldn't even stop himself from staring especially when one particular feature caught his attention. The twin pair of white streaks he had found in that Gothic photo streamed down each side of her face like flowing water. He wondered daftly if they were permanent as a light blush spread across her cheeks. It was then he noticed that she had raised a brow at him. That teasing smile remained as she spoke kindly.

"Are ya alright over there?"

Remy gave a mute nod as he gulped silently. He cleared his throat again for what felt like the millionth time in those last ten minutes. He made sure to avert his eyes to her face. He felt his heart begin to hammer lightly against his ribs as he spoke. His voice was a little higher than usual.

"_Moi?_"

She nodded. A concerned look spread across her smile.

"Of- of course I am _chére_. Why wouldn't I be?"

He chuckled in what he hoped _wasn't _a nervous manner. Marie on the other hand just shrugged nonchalantly. She had no idea of what it did to her body or what it did to his as she replied.

"Ah dunno. Ya seem a little…_tense_. Are ya sure ya alraght?"

Remy gulped a second time as he tried to keep his gaze above her shoulders. He mentally rolled his eyes at his own efforts.

"_Y' being paid t' draw _all _of her y' fool! What good is it to look only above her shoulders?!"_

He could name a number of things but didn't get the chance to as Marie's voice broke him out of his thoughts.

"Remy?"

"Oui _chére_?"

Marie tilted her head to one side and frowned lightly. The action proved painful for Remy as he tried not to take notice of how the rest of her body reacted to her actions.

"Have ya done this before?"

Remy wanted to laugh at what her question suggested. Of course he had done this before. He had made a fortune painting naked women, many of which he had had model for him in the flesh. He had never had problem with any of _them_. It just seemed to be _this one_ that brought out the nervous school boy in him.

"_Oui _ I have done- done _dis _b'fore. _Je suis desole ma chére._ If I'm making y' uncomfortable in any way I-"

Her expression turned sympathetic, much to his embarrassment as she cut him off.

"Oh no, don't beh. Ya not the first artist to get all tense when ah'm, well, ya know."

She gave a nervous laugh to which he was sure was just for his benefit.

"If anyone is uncomfortable in this room, ah think it's ya sugah."

'_Sugah.' _The word rolled off her tongue just as sweetly as sugar. He wondered which part of the South she was from as she continued to speak.

"Listen. If ya uncomfortable with this, maybe ya should organize another model. Maybe someone ya've drawn b'fore? It maght make this easier-"

His heart became lodged in his throat as the offending idea slipped from her lips. Without so much as another moment's hesitation or nerves , he walked towards her and gently grasped one of her hands in his. He gently pushed her down onto the seat as he spoke. The charming ladies man and the gentleman within him shook triumphant hands as he spoke almost fluidly.

"Dat won't be necessary _chére_. Believe _moi,_ I'm like dis wit' every first day wit' a model. I'm sorry if I put y' off."

Of course he was lying. He had _never_ had this problem with other models. Nevertheless, it gave the right reaction. Her alarmed look was almost priceless.

"What? No- no! No ya didn't. Ah was jus' – its fahne. Let's jus' start. Alraght?"

He gave a Cheshire cat smile the old Remy would have given the moment she stepped in the door. And to prove he was still _the same 'Raggin' Cajun'_ he thought he was, he took one of her hands and kisses it lightly.

"_D'accord ma chére_. Y' jus' sit however y' like. I'd like t' start wit' somet'ing natural."

She nodded with a kind smile across her lips but even she, the professional model, could not hide the blush that painted her cheeks. Remy smiled to himself as he turned away.

He would get through this.

_****_

_**LOL oh it is so weird writing a nervous Remy. But the ol' raggin' Cajun came back in the end didn't he? REVIEW PLEASE!**_

_**-Gams **_

_**It is part of the Art Nouveau style to incorporate flowers and/or plants ("Flora") and small animals such as birds ("Fawna") into the works. It's also a part of the style for the main figure in the works to be a woman with 'flowing' hair and though there is usually some kind of cloth wrapped around her, she appears to be otherwise naked (unless the Artist decides otherwise).**_

_**Hey everyone! Thanks for the reviews. Much appreciated. **_

_**-Gams **_


	3. A Break to Ease the Awkwardness

_**Hey everyone! Thanks for the awesome reviews! I'm so glad you all approve of how I've portrayed Rogue and Remy. I was a little sceptical about how ya'll would react to their slight character changes. But then this isn't a normal situation now is it? ;) Keep the reviews coming!**_

_**By the way, this is going to be longer than I anticipated so it won't be added to my 'Gammy's Collection.' It will be a completely separate story with its own name space and link to show for it. Lol.**_

_**Cheers!**_

_**-Gams**_

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_**Chapter Three – A Break to Ease the Awkwardness **_

It took one day for the awkwardness to die down. It took two for Remy to realize just how easily he could slip. He had thought Marie positively lovely in photo-form but the sassy, sweet, good-humoured and headstrong Marie in person was lovelier. The first hour of drawing her had been painfully casual with un-personal questions and polite talk (not to mention unprofessional ogling on his part). The second hour, though less awkward, was no better for him as his focus was put to the test. At times he found himself staring a little longer than needed, he would turn back to the page within the beat of heart. She caught him staring more than once. The first time, a Cheshire cat smile had spread across her face as she teased him in a thick, Southern drawl.

"_Ya wouldn't beh sneakin' a peep would ya Mistah LeBeau?"_

It took a colossal amount of effort to disguise the shiver that ran down his spine as he replied _how he was supposed to draw her without peeping. _She had chuckled amusedly and let the matter drop with ease. By the third time she caught him _peeping_, she had made a game of it. Every time his gaze lingered a little too long on her, she would simply say _'You're peeping again!' _and he would turn away practically flush-faced, grinning nonetheless as he cleared his throat. He couldn't help but admire how she was so casual and relaxed about her nakedness. It still amazed him of course but he liked how she could seem so comfortable in her own skin. Or more _just _in her own skin.

By the time they finished that first afternoon, he was completely and hopelessly bewitched not just by her body but simply by _her_. Her smile was almost infectious as it was rare. No smile was the same as the last. Her light teasing and jokes about his staring habits coursed warmth through him like no other woman had ever managed to do. Well, not in a long time at least. Usually, on the rare occasion he _was _put into an embarrassing predicament in front of a woman, that would be the tell-tale sign that the evening was over and her number officially deleted. With Marie, her teasing caused him to smile rather than scowl. When her laughter filled the open spaces of the loft, it spread warmth and light into the room. Between different conceptual pieces, he made sure to catch a couple of sketches of those moments when she couldn't help but smile those rare smiles. They remained hidden under the table when she came to inspect his work. He couldn't let her see how pathetic he was now could he? When he saw her to the door that late afternoon, he did so with a reluctant step. He practically itched to ask her to stay; ask her if she minded working a little later than her contract dictated, if she wanted to stay for dinner- he thought better of the idea before he could decided upon a reasonable reason for her to stay._ Hands on the paper; eyes on her. _He couldn't break his oath. So with a charming smile and a strange, formal handshake (his inner Gentleman practically fumed when he didn't kiss her hand) he said goodbye with her assurance that she would come the same time the next day.

That night he continued to draw her.

He felt giddy and foolish, self infuriated and hopelessly entranced all at once. On his more self-infuriated tracks of thoughts, he berated himself for acting no better than a common stalker. On a giddier note, he couldn't get her out of his head and he didn't want to. To the artist in him, she was his new muse of inspiration but to the man in him, she called a deeper need and he knew he had to restrain it. He never worked business with pleasure. Not once. Sure there had been some casual dating with one or two girls a_fter_ the job was done but they had never been serious. Mere notches on his bedpost. He didn't even want to put Marie's name in the same context as bedpost notches. However _what_ he wanted exactly wasn't even clear to_ him_. By the second day, after a night of fretting over the issue, he decided that he wasn't satisfied with being totally impersonal with Marie. He wouldn't push the boundaries of business and pleasure but he needed to at least get a glimpse of the Marie behind the lovely face and the Southern drawl.

After her arrival, they were quick to get down to business. For the scene arrangement, he decided that getting to know the real Marie required _adjustments_. Thankfully, Marie hadn't caught onto the adjustments as_ 'adjustments.'_ When he handed her a sheet of pale green satin and asked her to wrap it around herself, she took it with an amused smirk across her face. She saw it as a concept feature and that's what he let her think. Quite frankly, if he was going to get to know the real Marie, he needed to without too many _obvious _distractions.

He barely skimmed the surface of being_ personal_ with his first question.

"Jus' out o' curiosity _chére_, y' wouldn't happen t be a Southern Belle from Mississippi would y?"

Her burst of laughter caused her cheeks to flush that pleasant pink colour he liked so much. The green satin wrapped delicately around her, covering all her womanly charms as she lay on a rug on the floor. Her head was propped on one of her hands as she looked at him from the corner of her eye. A similar rendition played across his page as she replied.

"Ah've never been called _that._ Not even bah the magazines. But ah _am_ from Mississippi. You're from New Orleans raght?"

He was surprised she could tell. Most people (ehem, women) he knew in Paris couldn't believe it when he said he was from New Orleans and not the heart of Paris itself.

"Born _et_ raised _chére_."

Her smile broadened with undeniable interest as she replied.

"Regular Cajun huh?"

He smirked proudly.

"But of course _chére_."

Marie let out a light chuckle. He had finished drawing the details of her face, so she was free to talk openly.

"Supposed _Southern Gentleman _too ah'm guessin'?"

He gave a mock look of offence as he replied similarly.

"_Supposed? _ _Mon Tante _raised dis Cajun a well bred, Southern Gentleman. Y' really want t' put all her hard work t' waste by called him a fraud?"

He made a tisking noise that caused her to chuckle with amusement. As he watched her laugh however, he took notice of how her body began to tremble with strain. She flexed the fingers that held up her jaw while she tried to remain perfectly still. Remy checked the time only to be caught by surprise. Half their time had already blown past. He set down his tools down and wiped the graphite that smudged his fingers onto his jeans as he turned to her.

"_Chére_ would y' fancy a break?"

She seemed more than happy to hear it as she sat up, clad only in a pair of green panties, and wrapped the satin sheet around herself as she spoke.

"One of mah legs was startin' t' fall asleep."

His brow furrowed in concern as he handed her her bath robe.

"Are y' alright Marie? _Je suis desole_, I didn't realize how long y' were-"

The sudden touch of her hand against his arm was enough to shut him up but she cut him off nonetheless as she spoke.

"No- its alraght Remy. Ah told ya, don't worry 'bout meh. A sleepy leg is jus' part of the job description. Or didn't ya read the fahne print?"

Though her last words were an attempt to ease the tension in his expression, the concern across his face was only slightly diminished.

"If y' get tired we can always stop _chére._ Don't want y' straining y' self _non_?"

He added a slight smile to ease the concern from his face. Marie agreed shortly afterwards.

"Sounds good t' meh Swamp Rat."

He raised a brow at her.

"Swamp Rat?"

She grinned as she walked over to the sofa. She picked up her water bottle as she replied teasingly.

"It's only fittin' considerin' ya from Louisiana."

He returned her grin as he replied smoothly.

"So dat would make y' a River Rat? Eh Mississippi?"

Her laughter broke across the loft in delightful tumbles and caused him to genuinely smile. When her laughter finally became lost in the open spaces, she motioned towards the bathroom while she spoke.

"Listen, ah'm gonna go get dressed an' get somethin' t' eat from the store- do ya want meh t' bring anythin' back?"

Remy was, for the very first time, left stranded in his own living room at a loss for words. She was incredible. First she put him out of sorts with her flippant attitude to nakedness and now she was taking _his_ lines? Wasn't it _his _job to ask her if she wanted anything to eat or bring something back from the store? His sense of male pride and Gentleman antics began to re-load as he motioned for her to stop. He motioned towards the kitchen as he spoke in what he hoped sounded light and casual…and not desperate and needy like it sounded in his head.

"Why don't y' stay here et I whip somet'ing up in de kitchen?"

Her brow wrinkled adorably with indecision for a moment.

"Oh...Ya don't need to Remy, that's sweet an' all but-"

Instead of listening to her polite reasons, he simply took her hand and led her towards the kitchen. He had her sit down on one of the bench stools and asked what she wanted to eat. To his surprise, and delight, she asked if he happened to know how to make Jambalaya. He scoffed dramatically and replied "But of course _ma river rat_!" The tell-tale spark in her eyes told him that she knew it too; she just liked to tease far too much to simply ask for Jambalaya. Within twenty minutes, the smell of chicken and spices filled the loft. Marie re-filled her glass with the wine bottle he had 'found' as she took in a deep breath. The smell tantalized her senses as she replied almost dreamily.

"That smells wonderful, Remy. Who taught ya how t' cook?"

Remy stood over the stove with a black apron around his neck. He had been thankful that he had had his back turned when she spoke. The way she said it sent deliciously unpleasant chills down his spine. He cleared his throat lightly as he looked over his shoulder to answer her.

"_Ma Tante_- de femme who raised _moi_, made_ mon frére et moi_ help her around de kitchen since we were both pups. After a while, it jus'…sunk in. I been cooking ever since I could remember."

Having deemed the food ready, he began to wipe his hands with the hem of the apron and turned to pick up the pair of bowls on the bench top. Instead, his gaze set upon a pair of emeralds. Marie sat contentedly with a closed hand tucked under her jaw as her elbow rested on the bench top. A gentle smile played across her lips as she watched him almost intently. It was difficult for Remy to stop himself from hoping that somehow, in some way, that she was aware of what lay between them. Whatever it was that is. Remy mentally shook his head at the thought. _No one connects with someone after two days._ Her gentle chuckle woke him from his track of thoughts before she spoke.

"Ya cook Creole food lahke a pro, ya paint, draw _and _ya a self-proclaimed Gentleman? Ah wonder what ya put on your resume Mistah LeBeau."

A throaty chuckle escaped him as he reached for the bowls on the counter. Marie offered to help but as he had before he began, he insisted that she not lift a finger. The Gentleman in him scored a point with that win as he dished the Jambalaya into the two bowls. He urged her towards the small table between the living room and the kitchen as he carried their food. She took it upon herself to carry the wine.

"Well what about y' _chére_? Wit' y' face on every fashion magazine out dere, I'm anxious t' see what y' put on y' resume."

A soft chuckle escaped her as she handed him his glass. She took a sip from her own as she turned to sit herself down.

"Ya wouldn't believe half the things ah did b'fore the magazines an' the photos."

He could only imagine as he pulled out her chair for her, what kind of things she had done before her claim to fame and success. He doubted it was anything close to the things he had done to get to where he was. He pushed away the thought as he tucked her chair in. He earned a smile and honey-coated 'thank-you' before he sat himself down in the seat across from her. His culinary skills were put to the test when she took the first bite.

A gentle moan escaped her lips causing all kinds of turmoil within him before she spoke.

"Oh mah gawd… Remy this is _amazing_."

He brushed off her comments with a charming smirk and a shrug but inside, inside he was beaming a grin of triumph. _"Ol' Southern Belle for sure."_ He remembered a few disastrous times he cooked Jambalaya for a woman. Most times it had ended in her _painfully_ asking if they could go out for dinner instead. And now here was this woman practically moaning after the first taste. Remy quickly found himself paying more attention to her than his own plate. Like the routine that had started in the living room, she caught him in his observances but this time her reaction was not what he anticipated. The metal spoon hit the side of the bowl with a clang as she made to cover her mouth.

"Would ya not look at meh when ah'm eating?"

Though his brow furrowed with confusion, an amused smile tugged at his lips.

"Why not _chére?"_

Though she caught his gaze again, she refused to lower her hand from over her mouth as she replied. A sigh shrugged through her shoulders.

"Ya'll laugh at meh. Honestly, ya will."

He stiffled a chuckle of amusement as he replied somewhat sincerely.

"I promise I won't."

She gave him a suspiciously raised brow.

"Promise?"

He grinned, a face of complete trust.

"Promise."

After a moment or two of what he would call mock-suspicion, Marie lowered her hand. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear in an almost nervous gesture before she spoke. He was rather taken back by her sudden shyness. She was sitting in his kitchen wearing nothing but panties and a bath robe, what could possibly make this woman shy?

"Ah don't lahke people watchin' meh when ah eat, okay?"

He stiffled a snort of disbelief with a clearing of his throat. He frowned mockingly as he replied in a similarly toned severe voice.

"Dat may be damaging t' y' career _chére._"

His lame joke was met with a sarcastic "Oh-har-har-har" before she replied. She began to pick at her food in an alien, self-conscious manner as she avoided his gaze once more.

"People think that because ah'm a model, ah eat lahke one too. So when ah'm out on a date with a guy, he asks if ah want a salad an' every tahme ah say ah want somethin' else lahke- ah dunno, lobster, they end up starin' at meh the entire tahme ah eat it lahke a freak of nature or somethin'. It really bothers meh, so stop starin'."

Despite his efforts, Remy broke into a loud, exuberant laugh that had him clutching his sides. The image of Marie eating a lobster dinner, complete with the bib and a gaping idiot was just too hard to take with a serious face. When he was finally able to breathe again, he looked up to find a new surprise before him. Marie's face had darkened to a warning glare but the slight pout of her lips made it more adorable than menacing. He coughed feebly into his hand as he straightened in his seat.

"Sorry."

She merely rolled her alluring eyes. Remy felt a pang of guilt actually tug at his chest at the action. He had infuriated women to a point of lustful frustration, not mild discomfort and peevishness. He was about to open his mouth to begin apologizing again when she cut him to the chase. She brandished a spoon at him with a viciousness better suited to a sword as she replied with a suspicious tone. The peak of a smirk that tugged at the right corner of her mouth was not left unnoticed, but still.

"Ya stocked the fridge with packaged salads didn't ya?"

Remy's face fell for a split moment before he replied nonchalantly.

"No."

To his alarm and horror, she stood from her seat and hurried to the fridge. He was just two seconds behind her and remained to be so despite his efforts to catch her in her chase. Her bursts of laughter echoed behind as she slipped out of his grasp time and time again only to latch a hand onto the silver door handle before he could stop her. She grinned in triumph as she stood back from the open fridge. At least half a dozen packs of packaged tossed salads stood lined up on the middle shelf. Marie leant against the door with one hand propped on her hip as she replied. A sly, knowing smirk played across her lips as she replied playfully.

"_No_, huh?"

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_**Was gonna add a bit more but figured this was a good time and place to update. Just to show ya'll that I'm not quitting this baby! –smiles- **_

_**REVIEW! CHEERS!**_

_**-Gams**_


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